


The Blackbird Song HIATUS

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 16-Year-Old Harry Potter, All The Dub Con is Chapter One, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Marriage Contracts, Mutual Non-Con, Possible Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seduction to the Dark Side, Serpentine Voldemort, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: With Voldemort's resurrection no longer secret, the Ministry decides to try to nip his war in the bud by forcing him into a marriage with none other than the boy who lived. Unable to fight each other or go against each other's wishes, the dark lord and the boy who lived have to find a way to get along, or risk their forced bond killing each other. Confident in Harry's ability to sway the dark lord to the light and good side, they never even consider that it may go the other way around. Maybe they should have thought about it before they married a the dark lord to his equal, sixteen years old and his nemesis or not. They should have thought more about who they were betraying.(Title Change. Used to be With this Hand)





	1. Wedding Bells

_**The Blackbird Song** _

_**Honey Latte** _

_**Chapter One: Wedding Bells** _

* * *

When Harry Potter was really young, not even six, he had a crush on the daughter of his neighbor in number 7. She was ten years old and very kind, often rescuing him from Dudley. He used to imagine their wedding; until she moved, taking his young heart with her, and his crush faded after three weeks because he was only five and he got a new crush on a new boy at school. That wedding dream never changed, not really, not even as he grew older and his crushes came and went. It didn't matter if his crush was male or female, older or younger. In Harry's dream wedding there were grand archways covered in lavender garlands, and huge arrangements of rubecent roses. He'd stand under the largest of the archways in the setting sun in a black tuxedo and his bride, or groom, would walk down the isle in white. They'd be so in love and so happy, and they'd say their vows and kiss in front of his family. In the beginning, his dream family were nameless faceless blobs in the chairs, but as his family grew in real life those blobs were replaced by all the people he cared for. His family would happily cry in the chairs, and send them off to a honeymoon. They would send them off to live happily ever after.

This is not the wedding he dreamed of.

There are no archways or floral arrangements. His friends and family occupy the seats, a small portion of them anyways, but they all sob heart-brokenly for him. The room in which the wedding takes place is a dull courtroom, with the ministry on one side of the room, a few of his friends and family sitting next to some of the recently outed death eaters on the other. It is the same room his hearing took place before fifth year, only a year earlier, and it feels just as horrible to be there now, even with it near empty.

Voldemort stands next to a podium in the center of the room, a monstrous vision of serpentine horror dressed in black robes still crusted with blood and dirt form the battle he'd been captured from, glaring daggers at the Minister beside him, and Harry is dragged forward until they are side by side, both chained to keep from running away. Grim faced, the dark lord turns to stare at Harry, and he knows he must make quite a tragic picture. He's dressed in a Weasley sweater and baggy jeans with no shoes, sobbing uncontrollably with tears and snot running down his face as he tries to breathe through his crying.

"We are gathered here today to join Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry James Potter in matrimony." The minister starts with glee as the two of them are chained hand in hand. Voldemort's hand is smooth, cold, and scaled in his own dry, warm hand. Somehow it makes him even sadder, holding the hand of someone just as trapped as he is. "This union is one of convenience, binding these two together so neither can cause harm to themselves or others. Let this joining be witnessed. I now proclaim your union to be true. From this point on you will be known as Harry James Riddle-Potter, and Tom Marvolo Riddle-Potter. Rejoice! You may kiss your groom."

Neither moves to do it, and the chains are yanked. "Kiss or suffer the consequences."

Harry doesn't know what Voldemort's consequences are, but his are his friends and family being murdered, and his magic being stolen. Harry can't help how he bawls even louder, even harder, at this command, and Voldemort's face is a mix of pity, disgust, and horror. His chin is pulled up and the dark lord presses a kiss to his wet snotty lips even as he sobs, a brush of lips he barely feels. The binding spell instantly snaps into place, a sharp twang of magic pulling through him. They jump apart, and pain surges through him, unbearable as the cruciatus. Harry falls to his knees screaming from the agony, and Voldemort stands stock still, teeth grinding together so hard Harry can see blood trickling from his mouth as his fangs bite into gums and lips.

"This union is to be consummated immediately." Fudge declares. "You will go into the office next door, it has been converted for your needs. Overseeing this union shall be myself, Albus Dumbledore, and Lucius Malfoy."

\--

A neutral party, a dark party, and a light party. Harry doubts Fudge counts as neutral in any sense of the word. Until now he's wanted the wedding to be over with, but now Harry wishes it was still going on, that it had taken the same time as a normal real wedding would have. They are dragged through the halls in chains, forced behind the closed doors of the office with the aforementioned witnesses. It is a sparse room, with only a mattress on the floor with no covers. The minister opens his hands and produces a couple vials of potions.

Dumbledore speaks up. "Harry, you will take the pink potion, it will get the preparations over with to make this a little more comfortable." He commands. "You both will take the purple potions, unless you believe you can muster up the attraction necessary to consummate this union on your own, and find release at the same time. It will force a release in thirty minutes, so that even if neither of you feels any pleasure you will still be done at the same moment."

Neither he nor Voldemort seem to need a second to think, they just look at each other, then snatch the potions from the minister's outstretched hands. The purple potion tastes of frog spawn, and it slides slimy and thick down his throat. An uncomfortable heat spreads through him, and he can feel himself become erect. He takes the pink one, and it's even worse, like sewage water, and an awful slickness coats his butt and thighs as he feels his insides stretch painfully.

"Strip." Fudge commands.

Harry does so slowly, not watching Voldemort, but knowing he is doing the same form the rustling behind him. He silently begs Dumbledore to call it off, find a way to save him, but the headmaster just stares at him with cold unyielding eyes. He's naked now, and he can feel Voldemort standing behind him, but knows without having to look that the dark lord is looking anywhere but him. Voldemort may be the one who will be doing the act to Harry, but he is as unwilling as Harry in this. Harry is not the only one about to be assaulted, violated... raped.

"Well?" Fudge gestures impatiently. "Begin!"

Harry lays on this belly, a pillow tucked under his hips, and Voldemort kneels between his legs. Harry is almost glad Sirius is dead, so that he doesn't have to witness his godson become a rapist and be raped all at the same time. He's glad his parents are dead too, for the same reason, horrible as it sounds. As Voldemort moves in him, Harry feels the bond shifting, settling, happy with the consummation even as Harry sobs uncontrollably and Voldemort stares at the blank wall with a dead expression that suggests he'd rather die than be here, doing this, having this done to him. The potion makes this possible, but thirty minutes feels like a lifetime, and when it finally ends they both pull away from each other as fast as possible. Harry curls up naked on the mattress and cries even harder than he had as it went on, and Voldemort swiftly dresses. In an odd gesture, kindness, pity, guilt, he drapes his robe over Harry, as if to preserve his modesty despite everyone in the room having seen him lose his virginity minutes earlier.

Lucius is just as silent as he has been the whole time, just as stoic, but he helps Harry stand and hands him his clothing. Dumbledore steps forward, reaching out as if to give comfort, and Harry jerks backwards, almost back into Voldemort. He'd rather stand with him, his victim and assailant all at once. A far as Harry is concerned, Dumbledore and Fudge are his rapists, more at fault the the dark lord who'd actually done the act. It is only a belief cemented by how the minister looks as if he might be hard from watching, and Dumbledore just looks unphased by bearing witness, in contrast to Lucius Malfoy seems as disgusted and horrified as both he and Voldemort are. Maybe it's his mind playing tricks and games.  

"You will be separated for a couple hours, then you will take individual portkeys to the River Manor, where you will spend the next month Honeymooning in the privacy of the manor until it is time for Harry to start his sixth year at Hogwarts." Dumbledore informs them. "At that time Tom will be moved back to his own home, which will be Harry's home as well. You will spend every two weekends, breaks, and summer together. This should be enough to satisfy the bond while you attend school."

Harry doesn't get a chance to protest, neither does Voldemort for that matter, before they are whisked away by their prospective witnesses to empty offices separate from each other. In the privacy of the office, Harry cries some more.

This is not what he wants.


	2. honeymooning

_**The Blackbird Song** _

_**Honey Latte** _

_**Chapter Two - Honeymooning** _

* * *

The preparations for their sham of a wedding took up the majority of the summer, so they will only have to stay at the River Manor for ten days before the aurors will come to release them and take Harry to school. Harry has no clue where Voldemort himself will go, if he'll be freed or chained up in a dungeon, but the way they speak suggests he'll be freed because with their forced bond Voldemort is not a threat any longer. He knows for certain the ministry still doesn't know where the dark lord resides, and he thinks when Voldemort is freed he'll probably disappear to his home never to be seen again.

The war ended when they were forced together. Voldemort can not force Harry to become dark, not even with the betrayal of their forcing him to marry his nemesis, he'd have to persuade Harry over to his cause. Likewise, Harry would have to face the same difficulties in nudging Voldemort to the side of good and light, but even if it were not true that he has no clue what he even fights for, it would still be correct to say he has no clue what Voldemort is actually after either. In the end, neither has any hope of converting the other, which is why the ministry forced them into this marriage. 

They are taken to the manor in chains, though Harry has no clue why the place is called a manor, for it is nothing but a small, squat, and squarish grey stone cottage on the edge of a thin river. Harry wishes he would be able to explore the river, to let himself be swept away down the current to a far off place as far from here as possible, but alas both he and Voldemort are confined to the inside of the cottage for the duration of their stay at the manor. They are taken inside, released, and promptly abandoned to their selves. The forced bond prevents them from harming one another. They can't even go behind each others backs without the bond harming them, so Voldemort can't even attempt to conduct death eater business even if he had found a way to get anyone else here.

No longer surrounded, Harry stands awkwardly in the living room with Voldemort, stock still and just as wary as the dark lord appears to be himself. It's almost more horrifying, to see such a powerful fearsome creature brought down to the same level of fear as his own. Voldemort is supposed to be frightening and inhuman, and it makes Harry's breath catch in his throat like a solid thing to see him so lost, hurt... human.

He shakes his head and looks around. The room is bare, sparsely decorated with a single beige couch with two grey pillows, an empty white bookshelf, and a glass coffee table. He wanders to peek at the next rooms. A kitchen with a an oven, refrigerator, and sink, but there is no dishwasher and the cupboards are bare. In the refrigerator are ten numbered boxes, and when Harry peaks in each box they are all the same. Two servings of Porridge with brown sugar for breakfast, shredded chicken soup in cups with neatly packed round crackers for lunch, and mashed potatoes with brown gravy, blanched green beans, and baked salted pork for dinner. Harry shuts the fridge and continues on his explorations. A study with only a grey wood desk and a stiff chair that matches it in color, the bookshelves emptied in this room as well. A white bathroom containing two grey towels on a silver rack, a bar of unscented soap in the shower, a pair of toothbrushes in a cup on the sink, and a stack of toilet paper rolls on the back of the toilet. The bedroom is the last room, and Harry makes a distressed noise when he sees it. It is an empty room with only a bed, a twin sized bed on a wooden frame with four layers of blankets but only one long pillow.

Voldemort must sense his distress somehow, either through their newly formed bond or because he hears Harry's sound of discomfort, because he is coming up behind Harry seconds later with a concerned face. Harry doesn't deserve his concern, he wouldn't feel it if it weren't for their bond, and the fact they are both victims of each other and the ministries machinations. Voldemort makes a small noise, a huff of breath really, and walks into the bedroom. He grabs the top two blankets, leaving the two thickest blankets on the bed, and he walks away. Curious, Harry follows. Voldemort drops the blankets on the couch and starts dragging it away, neither of them having their wands, until it's in the study. It gets stuck, so Harry helps him by pushing it into the study, then he helps him situate the couch in the study, making a makeshift bed.

"I'll take the study." Voldemort says, and Harry jumps, startled, because these are the first words he's said to Harry since the whole ministry debacle that lead to his revelation and their forced wedding.

He doesn't really have anything to say, since he'd actually been expecting him to take it, so with a curt nod and a soft thank you Harry abandons the study, the door shutting behind him. He makes his way to the bedroom once more and he throws himself down on the bed. Harry lays under the covers all alone and cries himself to sleep.

After the first night, which doesn't count towards their ten days together, Harry spends the first three days of their confinement only leaving the room to go to the bathroom, both to take care of business and use the toothbrush cup to get some water, enough to keep himself alive before he goes back to his room to cry and sleep some more. By the fourth day he has to get up for food, his stomach rumbling, and he spends the whole walk to the kitchen on the look out for his husband, but Voldemort is just as set on avoiding Harry like the plague as Harry is for him, and Harry doesn't even know if he even leaves the study anymore than Harry leaves the bedroom.

The boxes are all untouched, the dark lord apparently not eating any more than he is, and Harry prepares both bowls of porridge. Voldemort is taking the couch, a kindness he didn't have to show Harry, the least he can do is try to feed him. He knocks on the door to the study and leaves the bowl and spoon on the floor outside. He hears the door open as he shuts the door to his own bedroom. He hates porridge, but it's food and his starving belly is grateful it despite his hatred of it. When he goes to dispose of the paper bowl in the trash, Voldemort's own bowl and spoon are already thrown away, and there is no food in the trash.

Without anything else to do, the last week of their confinement passes in a monotonous way. Harry sleeps until about seven in the morning. He makes his bed, exercises for about an hour, makes breakfast at about half past eight, takes a shower, naps, makes lunch around one in the afternoon, exercises some more, spends a couple hours being bored in his room, makes dinner around six, exercises again, and gets himself ready to sleep at about nine. Some days Harry only cooks Voldemort food, and others he finishes his food only to find his unfinished food in the trashcan. He never sees Voldemort. He hears him shower after dinner every night, but he never sees Voldemort. It begins to feel like forever instead of only a week and Harry longs for food beyond the simple meals they are able to eat in the riverside cottage.

Voldemort doesn't even leave the study aside from to shower once a day to Harry's knowledge until about fifteen minutes before the aurors are set to arrive. Harry helps him move the couch and remake the bed, then they sit on opposing ends of the couch in awkward silence as they eat dinner for the last time. The aurors are late but when they come they do not bring chains. Voldemort exits without an auror and promptly vanishes.

He'll be there to pick Harry up from school in two weeks for their mandatory weekend stay together, but Harry doubts the dark lord will be seen anywhere before then.

\--

Though he's grateful to be released from the cottage, Harry dreads going to school. Hermione, Luna, and the Weasleys were all there for his wedding, but no one else is allowed to know of their marriage. He'll only have a few people who actually know. Maybe Draco Malfoy might know, considering his father was there, but Harry doesn't find that a comforting thought. Harry will have to go through school as if everything is normal, as if Voldemort were not married to him. It's a thought that brings him no comfort, even as he enters the Burrow.

The Weasleys surround him the moment he gets in, but no one touches him. He's grateful for this, because Harry doesn't really want anyone to touch him right now; not only because he feels he doesn't deserve their comfort after that event, but also because his skin hasn't stopped crawling since we was dragged into the ministry offices. He can still feel it happening still, picture it as he closes his eyes. Their eyes are a poison gaze on him, more horrifying to him than the forced consummation of their marriage.

It becomes apparent to him that someone asked hims something, because everyone is looking at him with expectant and sorrowful faces. "What?" His voice is a harsh little whisper, and to add to his confusion, they only look even more sad. He clarifies. "I wasn't listening. Sorry."

"Ginny asked if you still love us, even though we didn't manage to stop this." Hermione is the one who speaks, and she looks so guilty even though none of this is even remotely her fault that he almost cries. He needs to be strong in front of them now.

Harry doesn't know how to answer that, not because he blames them for something so far out of their control, but because it is saddening to know they could think he wouldn't love them any longer because Fudge forced him to marry the man who murdered his parents, and hundreds or thousands more directly or indirectly. None of this is any of their fault. He admittedly hates Dumbledore a little bit right now, but he thinks that it is because of the fact that he was a witness and the one who signed away his freedom.

"'Course I still love you guys." He answers, and that's the end of that.

Afterwards everyone seems to warm up, and by the time bedtime rolls around no one seems to be focusing on his marriage to Voldemort. He doesn't sleep that night. He tries, but there's an emptiness that makes his chest ache miserably. It's the bond, acting up now that he's not near Voldemort, but just because Harry knows this doesn't mean it makes it easier to ignore.


	3. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a really long chapter with some fluff feeling and smut. Enjoy a small break from the depression, because in a couple chapters things are going to get worse than you can even imagine

_**The Blackbird Song** _

_**Honey Latte** _

_**Chapter Three: Bound** _

* * *

Life continues at Hogwarts as if Harry were really not married to the dark lord in secret. He attends classes, gaining a new dislike for his favorite subject under the tutelage of Snape, and a new love for potions under the tutelage of the new Professor Slughorn and the half-blood prince. He throws himself into his classes with a single-mindedness that should make Hermione proud, but instead leads her to giving him pitying looks when she thinks he can not see. Harry avoids Dumbledore as much as he is able, though for some reason he wants Harry to visit him in his office. Harry doesn't really want to see the headmaster now, not after the summer. Hanna Abbots mother is found dead, quidditch tryouts are held, and on every second weekend Voldemort comes to the edge of Hogsmeade to pick up Harry in the middle of the night.

His weekends are spent in the same fashion as his honeymoon, both the boy-who-lived and the dark lord avoiding each other as much as possible, only seeing each other to eat in the dinning room for supper. They sleep in separate rooms. They never see each other, never speaking when they do. It's like being married to a ghost. Harry spends most of his time on the grounds, in the dueling room, in his room, or in the library. He gets there at midnight on Saturdays, leaves midnight on Sundays, and repeats the process as the weeks fly by him. Nothing changes. Harry's chest grows tighter and tighter as the weeks fly by, the pain in his heart increasing day by day. He wonders how one can die of a broken heart when they aren't really in love, but he can feel his heart breaking as the days go by. They've been together two months, and the only words spoken between them have been short sentences from one with no response from the other.

\--

It is twenty fifth of October, half past eleven, and the air is frosted by barely falling snow as Harry walks with McGonagal to the meeting point. This is to be his fourth weekend with Voldemort. Voldemort stands by the shrieking shack, his red eyes glowing in the darkness, breath coming out in white clouds from his lips. His skin glows snow white in the darkness making him easily spotted and Harry waves awkwardly, as he always does, his fingers aching from the chill of the air. Voldemort doesn't wave back, but he never does. Harry takes Voldemort's arm, grabbing onto his sleeve more than anything, and he waves goodbye just before they are gone, twisting away through apparition.

Harry's feet touch the ground, and he twists. His fingers come to fist desperately in the back of Voldemort's robes even as his lips meet the smooth frigid serpentine lips of his husband. The kiss is not a soft thing for girlish tales, it is hard and unyielding, bruising, and their teeth clack together insistently. His hands clasp into Voldemort's robes, Voldemort's own in his hair first, then curled in his belt loops to drag him closer. Harry can't help his moan, nor the way he gasps as Voldemort picks him up, his legs wrapping around his waist, walking him backwards. His back hits cold stone as a forked tongue explores his mouth. The stone wall is so cold it is painful, even through his robes, and it provides the exact amount of wit needed to let Harry's brain catch up to what he's doing. What they are doing. Apparently Voldemort comes to the conclusion at the same time as he does, because he pulls away as fast and far as he can with his fingers still wrapped around his thighs to keep them around his waist. Harry's hands refuse to let go of the crisp black robes, tightening even as he tries to remove them. They stand, well Voldemort stands, panting, staring at each other with wide eyes. Harry can tell from the expression of the dark lord's face that he had no more control over that kiss than Harry himself had.

"What is this?" Harry inquires, breathless, trying to keep a level head even as his mind begs him to give in, go back to kissing. The pain in his chest is already less prominent, as if that single kiss, this closeness, is all Harry needs.

"It's the bond." Voldemort speaks lowly. "Contracts like ours are ancient magic. Amoremancy. They were created back when no one spoke about the couples who married without a desire for sexual intimacy. There is a reason no one uses contracts anymore, not like the one we have. This bond we share can feel us fighting against it, it sees our avoidance and hatred of each other as a threat to it's existence, and it's trying to force us to be together."

"Why hasn't this happened before?" Harry questions after nodding to show he understands.

"This is the first time we've been alone, not even a house elf here since I sent them away for a vacation." Voldemort answers. He fingers tighten, and Harry realizes he's having the same issue, the bond refusing to let him release Harry.

Harry has to constantly force himself to lean back, to stop trying to interrupt the dark lord with another kiss, to just let this play out until the end. "How do we stop it from happening?"

Voldemort frowns. "Our bond wants us to be intimate, to consummate again if you will." He answers. "I don't know if we can stop this from happening again, but perhaps we can avoid it."

"How?" Harry doesn't quite manage to stop himself from leaning in this time, and the word is spoken millimeters from Voldemort's lips. When the dark lord speaks his breath fans across Harry's mouth, inducing a shudder from the teen.

"We can stop avoiding each other. We can hold hands." When he says this he moves one of his hands to take Harry's own, and he slides his sharp nailed fingers softly across his palm and into the spaces between his fingers, curling their hands together and tickling Harry's palm at the same time. "We can take time to get to know each other. Maybe become friends. We might have to share a bed, or cuddle, maybe even kiss sometimes, but I'll never do anything you aren't comfortable with. Hopefully this, plus never being in a room alone if we can help it, should at least force another event like this far enough into the future that if we don't manage to catch it we will at least be friendly enough with each other that it shouldn't make us hate one another."

Harry goes to nod again, but only manages to bump his forehead against the dark lord's. "I'm okay with that." he decides. He tries to extract himself from the hold, and his own reluctance has nothing to do with the way his fingers tighten in Voldemort's hand and his arm slips up to wrap around the back of his neck. "How to we get out of this?

The dark lord grimaces. "We don't." He says. "Once this starts, when it's not of our own volition, it doesn't let either of us go until we've let it play out."

Harry gulps at that. In the same instance he can feel his blood freeze and his bond warm. Against his will he can feel his mind conjuring images of that night. He no longer considers Voldemort a rapist, not even on his worst days, but he still considers that time a rape, and Harry remembers it wasn't really pleasant in any use of the word. "I'm not sure I can." He whispers. "I don't want to hurt you."

For a moment Voldemort is silent, staring into his eyes, and Harry realizes abruptly that he's probably in Harry's own mind, trying to glean the words Harry can not speak out loud. "You didn't rape me, Harry." Voldemort's voice is soft. "Yes, that was out of our own hands, yes it was forced, and it is true that I didn't want to be doing that to you, with you. If either of us is a rapist it was me, but in my mind I have not been looking at it like that. You'll go mad thinking of yourself like that."

Hearing him say that, Harry suddenly realizes that he has been thinking of himself as a rapist, even though he does not see Voldemort as one any longer. Knowing he does not see Harry as his attacker lifts a huge weight of his shoulders he hadn't even realized he was feeling. It is awkward, having such an intense conversation in such a compromising position, being laid bare for someone who is meant to be an enemy.

"I didn't know I was going to be your first. I'd have tried to be more gentle for whta it's worth. ." Voldemort says. "I'd lost my virginity at fourteen. I assumed you had too, given how strongly you reacted to that boy's death in the Graveyard."

Suddenly Harry is hit by the realization that Voldemort has been thinking that he'd been forced to marry not only the man who murdered his parents, but also the murderer of his boyfriend. No wonder the man has been avoiding Harry so thoroughly. "Cedric wasn't my boyfriend." He says. "He had a girlfriend, I had a crush on her for a little bit. I had a crush on the both of them to be honest, and Cedric and I once traded hand jobs in the prefects bath, but he wasn't my boyfriend. I wasn't in love with him. I've only been in love with one person before, but Cedric wasn't it."

There's an expression that flits across his face, like relief, then it is gone and curiosity takes over. "Tell me about her, the girl who stole your heart."

Harry blushes. "It wasn't a girl."

"Tell me about him." He whispers.

Harry wonders if he means for it to sound so flirtatious. He wonders if he's trying to get them back into a more intimate setting, so they can finally be released from the hold they bond has them trapped in. Then again, he doubts Voldemort knows who his first crush was, even if he's seen into Harry's mind. No one else has ever seen that secret. Harry mumbles his answer and Voldemort frowns.

"What was that?" he asks.

Harry steels his nerves. "It was you." He answers, hiding his face in his hands.  "A memory you trapped in a diary."

He doesn't even notice at first that he is no longer grabbing on to the dark lord for dear life, not until Voldemort has set him down. He doesn't back off, still far to intimately close, crowding him closer against the no longer cold wall, and one of his hands is still on Harry's hip, drawing circles on the fabric with his thumb. He whispers, his voice too soft, his chest aching as he forces himself to continue to keep some semblance of distance. His hands no longer on his face move to grab at the dark lord, one curling back into the same hand as earlier, while the other curls in Voldemort's own belt loops, knuckles white with the tightness of them. As if his fingers are afraid he'll try to escape.

"My soul." Voldemort corrects, on his face is an odd unreadable expression. "It contained a piece of my soul."

in Harry's mind he can see himself stabbing the diary with a fang, Riddle's form fading, ink and blood and poison on his fingers. His hands shake in horror. "I destroyed it." He chokes. "I murdered a part of you. I killed you, not a memory but a part of you." So not only is he a rapist, but he's a murderer too.

Voldemort tilts his head up. It's a gesture reminiscent of how he'd seen Bill tilt Fluer's up for a kiss that summer. "I admit that if my Horcruxes were normal that part of my soul would be in purgatory, but I laced the magic with another spell. When you destroyed my soul you returned it to me." He says. "And that part of my soul contained a part f me that we can refer to as the heart of my soul. Without it I had no feelings. I had logic, but everything was numb and blank. I have many more horcruxes, I suspect you might even be one, so do not mourn that part of me. It is not lost."

"Did he love me?" Harry whispers the words before he can stop them. "Do you know if he, you, loved me too?"

Voldemort nods. "I did." he says. "I don't know if I can still come to love you now, but I know I want to try to get to be friends with you. I don't want you to be trapped anymore than you want me to be. I want us to one day be friends. Maybe more."

It is enough for Harry. It is enough, knowing that Voldemort once had the ability to love him, even if he was much younger. It gives him hope that this can work if they can never get free of this bond. It is enough for him to be okay with the idea of being intimate with this serpentine man. He rocks up onto his tiptoes, and as if sensing the movement before it happens Voldemort leans in, so their lips meet once again in the middle. It's a softer kiss, one that grows more intense as Harry allows it to continue. There is a zing through the bond, and Harry feels his hands tighten, so tight his nails bite into his palms. Voldemort breaks the kiss. Harry makes a noise, displeased and desperate, and before he has the chance to feel embarrassed by his reaction there are teeth and lips on his neck. Harry pants and moans at the attack, his hands grip the dark lord's shoulders, his legs ache from tip toeing so long.

Voldemort scoops him up in his arms, the same as earlier, and before Harry can question he's being pressed against the wall, lower than earlier so that they are pressing tight against one another in a way that makes Harry shake with want. and Voldemort's hands are crawling over him, gripping his thighs, fingers curling between his legs. Harry is grateful that he's not having Harry get on his belly yet, he still isn't sure if he'd be comfortable doing so. He's not even sure he'd be able to handle a bed right now. The bond is shifting and settling with every second they give in. It's frightening, but at the same time it feels so right. Voldemort, despite that first time, seems to be a very passionate and tactile lover. His hands never truly leave Harry, always touching, and his focus stays entirely on him as if nothing else matters. Harry, in contrast, can't stop thinking. He thinks about how his friends would react if they knew he'd willingly slept with Voldemort. He thinks on the bond, and how it is affecting them, afraid when this ends Voldemort and he will realize it was a mistake. He thinks about how the magic of the bond flares and shifts like a living creature.

"Stop thinking." Voldemort commands with a bite to his neck that actually causes pain. He runs his tongue across the spot to sooth it.

Harry chuckles. "How?"

Voldemort shifts the way they are standing again, and Harry feels them grind tighter, harder, against one another as he's nearly slammed back against the wall. He's pressed tight against the tiles, legs shaking around the dark lord's waist, and the dark lord is moving his hips to provide a delicious friction that makes it very hard to think. Harry doesn't want to stop, he can feel heat pooling low in his belly, and the bond ever moving in his chest. When he comes it is with a choked off gasp several minutes later, and Voldemort does too a couple minutes after, shaking and moaning against his lips as he pushes against Harry, making his wet slacks rub against his overly sensitive member.

\--

When he stands, the bond settles, finally able to move away from Voldemort, his legs are jelly. Harry doesn't think he'd mind if they had to do this every weekend, but he doesn't voice the thought allowed. He doesn't have the right to be greedy. Neither one of them are friends, not really, nor are they lovers. Harry doesn't want things to get awkward, especially once the afterglow has faded. Voldemort is still so close, having not really moved beyond inches away, and as they breathe his lips keep brushing Harry's, as if he keeps leaning in for a kiss. An alarm sounds and Voldemort pulls back with a groan. He casts a cleaning spell.

"I believe that's for you." He says, voice revealing the annoyance his impassive face doesn't.

Sure enough, Ron and Hermione are both tied up in the guest room. Harry takes one look at the too of them, indignant and ready to defend him against his own husband, and burst out laughing so hysterically he worries he'll cry. He doesn't in the end, but it's a close call. Voldemort undoes the spell.

"I'll leave you to your guests." Voldemort says. Harry grabs his hand as he goes to leave, and the dark lord turns to face him. Harry isn't sure why he doesn't want him to leave, but Voldemort seems to understand. "I'll be a room over. If you need me just call."

When he's gone Ron and Hermione both give him an incredulous look. Harry doesn't even know how to explain.


End file.
